The One She Chose
by Peahopeless
Summary: It's the first November 5th celebration that V and Evey spend together after a year and a half apart. A pub, a memorial, fireworks, and The Count of Monte Cristo play a part.


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**Disclaimer: **As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros. 

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes: **November 4th, Eve of the Fifth, two years after Parliament went down, and about half-a-year after "Mirror of Resurrection".

Small reference to the banned "God Save the Queen" artwork in Gordon's home.

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "The One She Chose".

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**The One She Chose**

Evey leaned casually on the railing that circled the pub's main bar, taking in the crowd of patrons as she waited for her ale. It was truly surreal. A sea of drinking, laughing, even singing, Guy Fawkes characters.

As an event, the age old British holiday had really taken off these last two years. Thanks to the revolution, obviously. But she sometimes wondered if it wasn't really attributable to V's flooding of the country with such costumes, combined with the love of her fellow Brits for a good night of celebration and partying. This was only the second such holiday since the return of the people's government, and London certainly was in full swing.

The true benefit though, as far as she was concerned, was that in their revelry, her fellow citizens provided she and her consort the perfect camouflage. V could wander around in full view, here on November fifth evening, with absolutely no fear of detection. Utter brilliance, and quite by accident ... unless V didn't believe in 'accidents' either.

Looking over her shoulder, she gave him a small glance. He was sitting in one of the booths, talking with another man dressed exactly like himself. And at the next table sat three more fully costumed Fawkes revelers, their masks tipped up atop their heads.

Really, it was like standing in a room full of moving mirrors.

Only one reflection, however, seemed to give off that unique sensation of vigilance. Regardless of whatever conversation V was currently engaged in, Evey could still feel his eyes on her. A sensation verified when his head made the slightest shift in response to her private little glance. He was watching, ensuring that none of his imitators would accost his lady while she purchased her refreshment.

With ale in hand, she returned to their booth, sliding in beside V. The man across from them had taken off his mask, and was currently chugging back a much darker beer.

"Yeah, bout time they let the good German drink back in the country, eh?" the stranger laughed. "That swill Sutler kept pushing as 'homegrown' tasted like crap."

V chuckled and nodded politely, adding a congenial, "Yes, yes." And now that Evey was back, he had an excellent opportunity to change the conversation.

"Evey my dear," he greeted, turning as if about to share the most amazing news with her. "Did you know that this infamous rebel, 'B' ..."

"V," the stranger corrected helpfully.

"Oh yes, V, thank you," V re-stated the correct letter as innocently as possible. "Did you know, dear Evey, that this 'V' character once set up a projection system to overlay the image of the exiled Queen Elizabeth on that huge portrait Sutler had erected outside of Buckingham Palace? I'm told it was a special event in commemoration of Her Exiled Majesty's birthday."

Evey's eyebrows rose. "Oh really?" she replied in surprised disbelief while she searched her memory for any such event. Nothing sprang to mind though, and the tone in V's voice implied that it was, in fact, a tall-tale.

"Yes indeed," V continued. "Our new friend here has just been regaling me with some terribly amazing stories of the old rebel. It seems I've been woefully unaware of the news over the last years. I've never heard of such shenanigans."

Evey nodded, playing along. "Sounds like the guy was quite an art connoisseur. Almost like he was trying to recreate 'God Save the Queen'."

V nodded, the grin on his mask matching the grin beneath. He knew she'd find it nearly as amusing as he did.

"Oh I could tell ya plenty 'a stories," the stranger assured, waving his hand at Evey. "Hey, buddy," he then addressed V. "Don't ya want a drink, mate?"

"I'm afraid I don't imbibe," V answered politely, while Evey tried not to choke on the sip she'd just taken.

"Damn great bloke though," the stranger continued, still speaking of the same hero who, unbeknownst to him, sat right across the table, smiling at him like only Guy Fawkes could. "Don't think England 'll ever forget him. Started the whole revolution, he did. At least here in London. Too bad you weren't in the city then ... you'd have been a fan."

"Yeah," Evey agreed, "I probably would have been." Beneath the table, V gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

"You'll have to get yourself a costume for next year, miss," the stranger suggested. "Shouldn't be hard to find, now that you're in London."

"I'm afraid the lady is rather claustrophobic," V explained, fibbing so that Evey wouldn't have to. "I fear the mask wouldn't suit her." It was the least he could do. He, of all people, knew why she wasn't one of the many in costume this evening. She'd told him before they'd left the Shadow Gallery, saying it felt too sacrilegious since she was so close to the genuine article. Quite a sweet sentiment, actually.

"Well, anyway," chortled the stranger, throwing back the rest of his ale as he prepared to leave. "Yeah, you got it. Great bloke, he was. I'd have liked to shake his hand."

V nodded. "Indeed, I as well. Now that you've told me so many delightful stories."

Putting his mug down and wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin, the stranger rose from his seat. And in a moment of complete unknowingness, extended his hand toward the young lady, and then to V as well. Each shook it in turn as they exchanged their pleasant goodbyes.

"And he'll never know," Evey mused, while V finally let out the laugh he'd been holding for minutes.

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"Quite sobering, I must say," V commented, an hour later as they entered the Memorial to the People. This, was not part of the celebrations going on outside.

Located in the partially reconstructed Old Bailey, it stood in remembrance of all those who had been killed during the rise of the Norsefire; those who had disappeared during the years of oppression; and those who had given their lives in the revolution. And like the people for which it stood, it was as varied and spectral as any British life could be.

A large but simple room, filled with aisles and aisles of peg-board. And on each peg hung anywhere from one to a dozen little black bags. Bags ... chosen as a mourning symbol for those who had disappeared from the face of the earth beneath similar such cloth sacks.

Each bag, in turn, had been hung by the family member of a victim or revolutionary, and filled with items from the deceased's life. Almost every hobby, every profession, and every sentimental family moment, was represented somewhere among these rows of bags. So much lost life.

Silently, the pair walked through the aisles, careful not to disturb those who were visiting now on this day of memories. The crowds were gone though ... the memorial service hours earlier having seen the most activity. Evey had tactfully avoided it, choosing instead to bring V here during the evening's privacy.

Eventually, they reached the bags she herself had hung nearly a year ago ... one for her mother, one for her father, and one for her brother. Even one for Valerie, V noted silently, with a red, glass rose sprouting from the top of the black drawstring.

"I spoke at the official dedication, you know," Evey stated sadly. "A year ago today. I've watched the walls fill with bags all this time, growing blacker and blacker. Such a sickness this country lived under for so long. You don't really appreciate the extent, I don't think, until you see it like this."

"Yes," V agreed thoughtfully. He stood behind her, reaching to squeeze her shoulders as her finger touched her brother's memorial bag.

"I'm glad I didn't come earlier today," Evey continued. "For the ceremony. I don't think I could have handled it. Last year was ... ... ..." Her words trailed off into silence. Then she sniffed, prompting another squeeze from her beau.

"I pretty much fell apart," she explained. "Last year. I stood on a podium right over there," ... she motioned with her head toward the far wall ... "and sobbed like a child." Again she sniffed, the memories threatening to command a repeat performance.

Behind her, V carefully considered his response. The truth of the matter would probably both comfort her, and inspire her anger. But she, of all people, deserved the truth. ... ... ... "I know," he soothed softly.

With the memories and emotions swirling in her head, it actually required her a moment to grasp the logical deduction. He knew? She'd certainly never told him. And she had been under the impression that it had never been televised, the new BBC far too busy on stories involving the unearthing of multiple Norsefire rebel bunkers.

"You knew?" she repeated, turning around to look up at him. He was quiet, and despite the mask's grin, she could see the guilt weighing down on his head. "My God. You were here, weren't you?"

"I ... wanted to offer my own sympathies to the lost. ... ... And to you as well, even if I couldn't tell you in person."

As apologetic as his explanation was, it hadn't quite registered in Evey's thought processes yet. She was frantically scanning the archives of her memory. All those people in the audience, many of whom were sporting their Fawkes costume as a symbol of solidarity and tribute. One of them had been the man she loved. The man whose 'death' had prompted nearly every single tear that had fallen that day as she'd struggled through her speech.

"My heart was breaking all over, that day," she accused softly. "It had been a year without you. ... And you just watched me fall apart."

One gloved hand moved to cradle her chin. "Oh, Evey. I'm so sorry, love. I was doing what I thought best. I was trying to give you your wings. So you could fly far away from the shadows." ... His thumb drifted higher, catching a tear as it fell. ... "I never wanted the pain to linger so. I am sorry. Know that your speech, here in this room, was the closest I came to revealing my presence."

Somberly, Evey nodded. At heart, it was a debate she wouldn't win, because it was a debate they'd had multiple times. His beliefs on the life she 'could' have had in this new world still differed greatly from her own.

He would understand some day though. She would make him, if she had to.

In the meantime, there was another reason for their visit to the memorial. Turning from him, she stepped a number of paces to her left, then knelt down at a junction between two panels of the long wall. And oh so carefully, she reached out to stick her nail into the crack.

It was still there ... a small DVD case, resting at the bottom of the junction. And she smiled with relief when she pulled the item out. How different her emotions were from the day she'd inserted it.

She turned, handing it to V.

He flipped it over to find the label on the disk. "The Count of Monte Cristo," he read. "My favorite film." He easily recognized it as his own from his old Shadow Gallery.

"I couldn't put it in the vaults," Evey explained softly. "I've always remembered that day we watched it. And you fencing to it. I just couldn't ... ..."

"So it became my memorial," V concluded in understanding.

Evey glanced back down at the DVD. "Our memorial."

For a second time, his hand moved to her face, tilting it toward his.

And he studied her ... so intensely that she felt it rather than saw it. Felt it clear through to her bones.

"I'm honored, Evey Hammond," he spoke at last. "Truly honored. And most exceptionally pleased that neither I -- nor 'we' -- must remain within this wall."

Evey took a breath, letting it out slowly as she tried to center herself and stop the flow of memories. There were so many new memories to make ... especially for this day of celebration.

Then the disk was stored safely away in his cape's pocket, and he took his lady's hand. "Come. Let's go watch the show."

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For most Londoners, the highlight of this evening was the grand fireworks display. Of course, it had none of the surprise of Old Bailey's destruction, nor the punch of Parliament's demise. But with the oppression and tyranny ended, these fireworks continued to symbolize the energy and might of the people's victory.

V and Evey took up a position along the Tower Bridge, closed down for the evening audience's viewing pleasure. The winds off the Thames were often chilled in the autumn, and V soon had Evey drawn back into the cocoon of his cape.

Then, once it started ... starbursts and bangs, streamers and whistles, and V's favorite 1812 Overture to add the traditional revolutionary ambience ... Evey's memories of the previous Guy Fawkes day were finally beginning to lose their hold.

"They're better than yours," she quipped at one point, stretching up to share her verdict privately. "I know it's hard to compete with an exploding building, but the fireworks themselves ... I think they've done a spectacular job."

V chuckled lightly. "I never claimed to have reached the level of 'artist extraordinaire' in the field of pyrotechnics. But I will say that their choice of orchestra could have been improved. I would have gone with the Moscow Symphony's rendition. More percussion ... more ... celebratory joy."

"Well then maybe you should have gotten yourself on the planning committee," Evey laughed, to be countered only with his playful nudge.

When it was over, she turned, noting silently how he insisted on keeping her beneath the black fabric.

"You liked it?" she smiled.

"Very nice indeed," he replied. "And it was thoroughly a pleasure to have attended the festivities in your company."

"Yeahhhhh, me too," she drew slowly, closing her eyes and tilting her head back to appreciate the light breeze. Her hands soon found his waist, curling lightly around his torso as she took a deep breath. The breeze only lasted so long though, and its caress on her cheek was soon replaced by the softness of his glove.

He was staring at her again -- she knew it before she even opened her eyes -- while his fingertips swept slowly back to the curve of her jaw. And she could only imagine the expression on his face, or the thoughts behind his gaze.

It was then that another couple came whirling by, nearly crashing into V. A woman in a cape, dancing with a man in a mask, both of whom seemed a tad bit inebriated. And when they spun into the bulwark a short distance further, collapsing onto each other in laughter, the woman finally stilled them both by lifting her mate's mask and giving him a kiss square on.

... ... No coincidences, right? Isn't that what V always claimed? Almost as if fate had set up the moment as a test.

V was no longer watching the other couple, his eyes back on Evey, waiting for her reaction. He knew what it could not be, and so did she. ... ... Not yet. Not today yet.

But he was pleasantly surprised by the one she chose.

Her hand climbing to his shoulder, she pulled him down ... drifting her face into the fall of his hair. And where the black fabric covered his neck, she pressed a lingering kiss. One that he would easily feel.

"I love you," she whispered in a volume only he would hear.

Then she smiled, as an, "And I you," was murmured above her head.

At last he withdrew, and this time his affectionate stare could no longer hold its own ... breaking for a moment as he glanced down bashfully.

"Would you like to come down to the Gallery yet this evening?" he suggested. He knew how much she always enjoyed doing so, and he knew the government offices would remain closed the next day in further acknowledgement of the holiday. "I believe I feel like watching a film. I could offer you Edmund Dantes?"

Evey suppressed a small laugh, then leaned in close again. "Edmund Dantes is not the one I want. ... But he'll do." And she knew she'd hit home when his short, polite nod was filled with silent modesty.

He finally let the cape fall away from her, taking her hand instead. ... ... "Then away we shall go."

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**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "The One She Chose".


End file.
